


bones

by SUSHIGI



Series: bones [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SUSHIGI/pseuds/SUSHIGI
Summary: “my lips have stopped sayingi love you,as my hearthas taken its place.”





	1. episode one

today, the birds are singing. 

their sonorous song is carried down from treetops; caught in the breeze. monarch butterflies chase each other in the honeysuckle air. for miles, as far as the eye can see, there is only wheatgrass and swaying marigolds.

it was the year of pink skies and carrying orange rinds in your back pocket for good luck. it was the year the stars couldn’t plan out. the year she choked up dandelion fluff and fell back in love with the sun. the year of wild. of fireflies and sunrises and midnight car rides and blurry photographs of the orange streetlamps. 

he has a heart like a honeycomb; a heart that attracts girls like bees; stings her swollen. she coughs up pollen. he’s vanilla-dipped, eyes outlined in sugar crystals, perfumed in honeysuckle—leaking golden blood. 

his teeth are stars, entombed by cotton candy cheeks and strawberry lips. his features are carved from angels themselves; graceful and refined. sugar sweet boy, with daffodil eyes. neither the sun nor moon were raised to share, and they both wanted him for their own. he breathes out the heavens, inhales the comet fumes; he grew up with the stars kissing his skin. he’s composed of honeyed skin and brown sugar.

lips parted, eyes closed. the sun threads golden hues onto his eyelashes, showering him in warmth. poppies bloom around him. there’s lilacs and baby’s breath threaded in his hair.

“jisung…” she breathes, smiling slightly, “wake up.”


	2. episode two

if anyone asked her where she met him, she’d say, “somewhere in my dreams” a gorgeous contemplation, but reality looked more like this; the black screens on monitors, long desks that made straight rows on either side of the room, eight for each. large, full windows with long blinds that touched the floor, a whiteboard that took up the entire wall next to the door when she walked in, greeted by prying, bewildered eyes that said “are you sure you’re in the right place?” if she listened hard enough. 

she had rose extract on her wrists and he could smell it when she passed by him to throw out a wrapper. he could remember how her skin looked like coffee creamer, just as smooth. it startled him at first. all his senses took an interest to her, and he knew he wasn’t the only one looking. after all, she was the only pink in a club of blue.

they all tried to approach her first, fruitlessly. even he. all he had to offer her was his outstretched hands that were too big for her own, and empty questions about the game she was playing, her feet up on the desk, sipping something cool. she had ignored him that time, listening to something else, not him. he had figured she found him annoying or something along those lines. yet, jisung still wondered what it was like to render people helpless by merely letting your hair down. 

he can remember the first time he ever heard her laugh. it was a rainy day outside the school, rainwater eating up dandelions peeking from the cracks in the sidewalk. inside, it was congested and quiet save for the sound of furiously clacking keyboards and a teacher using the phone. she had been watching haikyuu!! and he had been playing starcraft eagerly, one side of his headset pushed off so he could hear. it begun with a giggle, so soft he could taste it. light and airy, like buttered popcorn. marshmallow fluff straight from the tub. maybe even popping candy.

“jisung, you let me die, man.” he heard through his headset, causing him to swallow the tennis ball that had formed in his throat, the green fuzz sticking to the roof of his mouth. “y-yeah. sorry about that.”

and then there it was. wednesday, fourth of june. long noons afterschool spent playing arcade games with friends or watching soccer on the projector were mandatory. with all the extra time he was supposed to spend studying for exams, jisung revisited an old hobby of gardening in the front yard with his mother, the fragrance of the earth and its flowers forcing nostalgia upon him. this was the peak of his youth, he considered. that was until the fourth of june. her hair was in a ponytail, curly baby hairs sticking to her forehead from perspiration. it was around the time some people dared to go without shirts in public, and shorts and tank tops were a must. even jisung swapped his oversized hoodies for thin long sleeves and elbow-length tees. 

his stomach threatened to expose its components the moment that he saw her converse stop at his desk in his peripheral vision. he pretended she wasn’t there, waiting for her to move; but she didn’t.

he looked up slowly, to find she was looking directly at what he was playing. she was eating some sort of wrap that smelled like summer in her palms. “what’s your accuracy?”

“ww-what?” jisung could barely process what was going on. “i have that map.” she smiled, leaning in closer. “you’re very good.” 

jisung’s heart had set itself a unstoppable pace that he figured would soon spiral into something critical. “oh? t-thank you.” sweat formed underneath his hands as she watched him play. “how are you so fast? could you, maybe, teach me sometime?” she asked, the soft tone of her voice falling over his ears in delightful streams. this meant she had been watching him; who knows how long? all he knew was that he hadn’t played osu since october.


	3. episode three

a kalediscope of flavors flashes across his irises; bear claw: dark chocolate ice cream filled with chocolate-coated cashews and swirled with a luscious thick golden caramel. candy bar: peanut butter ice cream with chocolate cookie crunch swirls, peanuts, chocolate chips, and m&m’s. caramel caribou: luscious toffee ice cream rippled with thick golden caramel and sprinkled throughout with chocolate caramel cups. lemon meringue pie: smooth and dreamy lemon chiffon ice cream with graham cracker swirl. park jisung: strawberry ice cream cheeks drizzled with honey and cinnamon, coated in hot fudge and maple syrup, topped with whipped cream and cherry smiles.

 

it was spring, shot through with hints of summer. when the bell on the door chimed, the scent of heated asphalt and freshly mowed grass wafted in. jisung looked up from where he was refilling the crushed oreo topping, his eyes immediately widening as they fell upon who had just walked in. the inside of the shop was cool, and behind the counter it was even more so; yet still, he felt perspiration bead at his hairline. his momentary surprise caused him to drop the tongs he was using. he quickly dived onto the floor, hitting his head on the edge of the marble slab in the process. he cursed under his breath before grabbing the utensil and standing up.

 

there she was, in all her beauty. jisung reckoned if she was an ice cream flavor she’d be strawberry cheesecake, (new york style cream cheese flavored ice cream with a strawberry topping variegate.) that, or perhaps, twinkicake (golden yellow cake ice cream with ribbons of of marshmallow and cake pieces.)

 

and she was smiling at him. ike, right at him. looking into his eyes and smiling like just her very gaze couldn’t cause the earth to yawn wide open or turn bones to dust or reduce him to monosyllables and baby babble or一

 

her skin was a bit blushed due to the heat, strands of her dark hair adhered to her face and cheeks. she wore no makeup, not even lip tint, and with the sun turning her skin a lovely golden hue, jisung was torn between running or just crying. neither options seemed plausible or even desirable, so he simply set the tongs aside and smiled at her. she smiled back, with teeth this time. on this day, at approximately 1:16pm, she walked into the ice cream shop that jisung worked at part-time (only on the weekends, there was no way he could balance homework and soccer practices and a job during the week) on the corner of  achaseong-gil and banporo, with it’s bright red chairs and rainbow pinwheel tabletops and slightly crooked storefront sign that lit up during the evening time, but it had been broken and they hadn’t the time to replace it, and she smiled at him. with her _ teeth _ . his entire universe was collapsing and spinning of its’ axis and jisung’s breath paused as he asked himself,  _ am i dying? i must be dying一 _

  
  


“hi.” she greeted casually, like jisung’s entire existence wasn’t threadbare. 

 

“hey.” jisung replied casually, despite the fact that his entire existence was threadbare.

 

it was then that he remembered that he worked here, and she was a customer, and he was supposed to go through the banalities of asking her what she wanted. “w-what can i get you?” he asked, peering over the top of the pane of glass that separated them.

 

she hummed, peering down at the plethora of ice cream flavors, pulling her lip in between her teeth. jisung tried his best not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. his mother also told him not to stare at the sun, and here she was, manifested into a person, and he couldn’t help it. he didn’t care about sunburns or compromised retinas. he’d burn for her; it didn’t matter. 

 

“what’s good here?” she asked. and if jisung took chenle’s advice (which was never a good idea) he’d say something cheesy like,  _ you look pretty good _ , but jisung wasn’t that kind of guy and he actually possessed some pride; albeit fragile, it was there somewhere. so he thought. 

 

he deliberated a moment. this was the reason jisung had gotten hired; he wouldn’t call it a talent since in the grand scheme it was pretty useless, but through a couple of minutes of assessing people he could diagnose what kind of ice cream they preferred. she wasn’t plain vanilla...maybe mint chocolate chip? it was sophisticated and classy. the ceo’s of ice creams. the board directors. that didn’t seem her taste. she seemed like a cherry kind of girl一cherry and chocolate perhaps?

 

“well,” jisung began, planting his palms on the marble slab. his hands were cold and a bit numb, but that was the usual. “it all comes down to personal tastes.” he sounded like an idiot and he knew it, but if she did, she didn’t show it. he realized he had an opportunity here. could he say something like,  _ why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, and i can figure out what i think you’ll like best?  _ but that line sounded awful and overall bad, so he just thought of his favorite. “i like vanilla cherry, personally. it’s vanilla ice cream with pieces of maraschino cherries. it’s really good.” 

 

and then she looked up and smiled at him again and jisung fought not to faint. that wasn’t an exaggeration, either; there were white-hot stars dancing dangerously across his vision. his head was a honeycomb, full of buzzing and swarming bees. he wouldn’t be surprised if honey leaked out of his ears or something. “that sounds really good. i’ll have that.” 

 

jisung adjusted the plastic gloves that were a little too big for his hands, before grabbing the ice cream scoop and delving into the frozen treat. “how many scoops?” he asked, struggling to barely get one out. 

 

“just one. i’m on a diet.”

 

like answers to a multiple choice question, a plenitude of responses flashed through jisung’s brain.

 

  1. _really? you look fine._
  2. _you look good just the way you are._
  3. _diets are dumb一do people really stay on those things?_
  4. _okay_



 

and jisung, like the idiot he was, settled for option d, however not without heavy contemplation; despite his feelings towards her, it wasn’t his place to comment on her dieting habits, or even her body for that matter. it was out of line and they barely knew each other. so he merely bit his tongue and put a scoop of cherry vanilla on the marble.

 

“any toppings?” he asked, grabbing the mixing spades and flattening the ice cream. 

 

she glanced at the toppings. “maybe...chocolate chips? oh, and how about sprinkles?” 

 

he nodded, grabbing what she asked for and mixing. he had never been very good at it, either, but he was trying his best. and taking into consideration that 1) his hands were nearly frostbitten and 2) a very pretty girl was standing right in front of him and staring at him like he created the earth beneath his palms, it was a miracle his brain had not malfunctioned. 

 

he could feel sweat running down the columns of his spine as he attempted to roll it. his angle was a bit off, and one of them was a little smaller than the others, but otherwise a pat on his shoulder was due for the amount of effort he was exerting to Not Die. 

 

he handed it to her over the counter, hoping she didn’t notice how bad his hands were shaking. “is that going to be all for you today?”

 

“yes, thank you.”

 

he removed his plastic gloves as he walked over to the register, going through the mechanized movements of tallying up her sub-total and adding the extra price for the toppings and adding the sales tax. “that’s going to be… five thousand three hundred and thirty-two won.” 

 

she handed over the bills. their hands touched, briefly. she recoiled a bit due to the coldness of his palms. his heart didn’t deflate. he swears it didn’t. 

 

he printed her receipt, sliding it over to her. “thank you. i hope you enjoy your ice cream.” he hoped with his entire being that she’d take a seat at one of the uncomfortable candy-apple red chairs and stay for a bit, maybe take a seat by the window so he could watch the sunlight play on her skin. but jisung was hardly lucky and this was no turning point for him. 

 

“i will.” she smiled again, one last time, before she waved and walked out of the shop. jisung’s knees felt weak. 

  
  



	4. episode four

big yellow buses lined the entrance to the school, spitting exhaust. their engines were loud and uproarious; cutting through the loud mindless chatter of the students as they stood in the courtyard in neatly filed lines, waiting to board.

it was early morning—the trees were singing, pigeons were cooing. dew still lingered on the trimmed grasses. the wind carried with it the scent of baked apple pies and something earthy. the early morning hues of sunlight crowned her head, bathing her face in its yellow light. it took him only seconds to find her face in the crowd; much to the displeasure of chenle, as he was in the middle of talking about some new video game that had just come out. next thing he knew, he felt chenle’s arm lock around his neck, effectively placing him in a chokehold.

“you’re so whipped. not even, you’re like borderline obsessed. it’s kind of freaky dude. girls don’t like that. they like boys who are distant and seem disinterested.”

despite the lack of air being sent to jisung’s brain, he was able to formulate a response. “and i suppose you're an expert in what women like, chenle?” he teased, attempting to break free.

“i don’t date because girls are too much work. you know that.”

“we both know it’s not because of…” chenle tightened his grip, cutting off jisung’s airways.

“huh? what? i can’t hear you.”

“boys!” their homeroom teacher scolded. her features were small and pinched, similar to the way someone looks after they’ve tasted a lemon. she struggled to walk on the grass in her stilettos, stumbling slightly. 

chenle quickly lets go of jisung, always the coward. “s-sorry miss.” if chenle wasn’t an expert in women, he sure was one at kissing ass. beady eyes, head cast down in shame; the whole thing. 

her scowl subsides slightly. “understand, boys, that this is a privilege, not a right. please don’t make a fool of our school before we’ve even gotten on the bus.” her eyes settle on jisung, burning holes in forehead. “have i made myself clear?”

they nod their heads in unison, hair bobbing. with a nod, she heads back towards the front, directing students onto the bus. 

“you’re such an ass, chenle.”

“you’re just bitter.”

“bitter? about what?”

“about the fact that i have more game than you.”

jisung could help but laugh. “you’re kidding, right?”

chenle’s rebuttal was cut off by the sound of a cackling megaphone, announcing that their class was due to board at bus 12-d. they trotted over the grasses toward the large yellow mass, jisung tripping slightly when he caught sight of her. effortless beauty like her exists in two realms, he thinks; heaven in hell. borne of innocence and virtue, strung high by angel wings, but beautiful enough to make any man sin. it was an odd contemplation, one jisung did not want to familiarize himself with, so he simply focused on something else, like the curve of her nose and the crescent between her cupid’s bow. she was chatting casually with friends, and he couldn’t help but wonder what about一books? music? television programs?

“name?” a clipboard was shoved in his face.

“oh, um…” imagine forgetting your own name. “p-park jisung.” a bright red check mark was scrawled next to his name. 

“you’re in row d-6, two seats from the back. your assigned partner is zhong chenle, correct?”

“yes.” he affirmed.

“alright. you may board.”

he climbed on, heading toward the back. his eyes scanned the already seated students. he couldn’t help it一at this point, it was almost a force of habit to look for her. she was seated towards the front, three rows in front of him. it would be a long ride into central seoul, and an even longer one accompanied by chenle, we could talk for actual milleniums without getting tired of even pausing to take a breath. jisung never minded, of course; it was one of the things he found fond in him, amongst others; like his ability to tell whenever something was wrong with jisung, and when to pry and when to keep his distance. it was the primary reason why chenle knew about jisung’s current infatuation; he definitely would not have divulged the information otherwise. it wasn’t that chenle had a big mouth, it was just that he never knew when to shut it.

they take their seats, buckling their seatbelts. chenle argues about wanting the window seat but jisung merely ignores him. he wishes he could open the window, feel the rush of the air against his skin, the wind making his hair wild and unkempt, the sounds of the city whizzing and whistling in his ears. but all he could do was lay his head against it and close his eyes.

“i can’t believe she went to your work yesterday, man. what did you say to her?”

“nothing that you’d be interested in.”

“so nothing good?”

jisung leveled him with a glare. “i treated her like a customer. that was it. nothing happened.”

“do you think she went in there just because you were working?”

the litany of questions ensued, jisung halfway through feigning sleep so that he could avoid them. in his head, speculation did not mean much. although he was analytical, in most cases he saw things for how they were; sure, maybe there was a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but constantly searching for one is exhausting and is invaluable most of the time. sure, it’s a possibility that she saw jisung working and bought ice cream for that reason. or maybe it was hot outside and she wanted freedom from the heat. or maybe she was just hungry and damn you chenle—

the bus passes over a speed bump, causing jisung to knock his head against the glass. he cringes in pain, rubbing his head. chenle’s arguing with the person sitting in the adjacent row, donghyuck, about which vegetable is superior. he claims it’s potato, but the other male argues that potatoes are starches and not technically vegetables, so his claim is invalid. chenle’s defense is that, you’re dumb and don’t know what you’re talking about and i refuse to banter with you further.

the bus came to halt, brakes hissing as they were pulled.

“alright!” their teacher announced, standing up. “now it’s time for protocol. i know the second we set you loose that you’ll forget why we’re here, so let me remind you. your assignment today is to analyze three pieces of art of your choice. provide an ample description and explanation of the piece, and why you chose it. this will be a major grade, so it would be within your best interest to take it seriously. now, look at the person sitting next to you. that person is your partner, and you must stick with them the entire time. is that understood?”

there is a collective nodding of heads, before the doors whistle open and the first row files out. jisung, oddly, feels excitement bubble in his stomach. he’d been to this museum with his family when he was just a child, and he hoped it still possessed that same dream-like quality. the paintings, at least to a ten-year-old boy, seemed too realistic not be genuine, and he remembered an argument he had with his father about whether or not the people in the paintings were real people trapped in frames or merely the creation of a perfect brushstroke and acrylic paint. an air of nostalgia settled around him as he got off the bus, hastily making his way to the white columned structure, pillars supporting the dilapidated building. it looked historic; the cement was cracking and the paint had chipped, but it was still beautiful in all it’s glory. jisung took the stairs two at a time; he thought the building looked like something from the renaissance era.

“jesus, jisung, maybe you should try out for the track team.” chenle commented, trying to keep up.

“sorry,” jisung replied, although he didn’t slow down.

he pushed the door open, the scent of pulpy paper and bleach cleaner hitting his nose. it felt familiar, although a bit vague; some of the exhibits had changed, but he could still recollect some of the paintings and sculptures.

the doors gave way to a small rotunda, leading to a large spiral staircase, which trailed up into the dome of the grand building. there were a few people loitering—mostly college students and the elderly.

“jisung!” he heard his teacher call, “you are to stay with your partner at all times.”

he finally paused, one foot already on the staircase. he glanced around for chenle, and found him talking animatedly with donghyuck by the entrance, staring at a large glass structure with important looking documents encased within.

belatedly, he made his way back to chenle. “hey, hurry up. i want to check out the exhibits.” he complained, refraining from grabbing his hand and dragging him up the stairs against his will.

“why are you so eager?” chenle pretended to look dramatically around the foyer, as if he was searching for someone. “ah. looks like someone’s gone upstairs already.”

“that’s not it.” at least, not really. but he wasn’t about to admit that to chenle. “i just want to get the assignment done. i’m not going to fail because of you.”

chenle smirked in a knowing kind of way. like, we both know that’s not the truth but if you say so. “okay, okay. let’s go.”

 

this was a museum, after all, it only made sense for her to be within its’ walls too; she was just as much art as the portraits hanging. it’d been about an hour, they were due to break for lunch soon, and chenle had yet to finish his assignment. jisung had finished thirty minutes prior, and he busied himself by staring at the art (it wasn’t the ones on the walls) and also chenle, making fun of the artwork. there was an insatiable itch beneath jisung’s skin, one that provoked him to go over to her and talk endlessly about the pieces of art, and which ones were his favorites, and the artists’ themselves, who’s back stories were actually quite interesting—like that of yoko ono, who gained popularity due to john lennon, who saw an exhibit of hers and fell in love with her creative expression, and actually married her.

“you should go talk to her.”

“w-what?” jisung replied, averting his gaze. thankfully she hadn’t noticed him staring; she was preoccupied with tying her shoe.

“i know you want to. and i caught a glimpse of her schedule at the beginning of the year. she’s taking ap art history.”

“really?” jisung asked, incredulous. one of jisung’s secret passions was art. if he picked up a paintbrush he’d have no idea what to do with it, but he did like appreciating art; in history class, when they studied art from the renaissance, jisung couldn’t remember a time in which he felt more excited to go to that class. it was relaxing, studying each intricate brushstroke, running his fingers along the different textures, wide color palettes, from dull hues to bright reds and oranges, and how each component comes together to create one cohesive piece of art rich in meaning and prose. the entire prospect of it interested jisung—it started around the time he was just a small boy, when his parents went to an art auction and came home with three pieces of traditional art. he’d always see them in the hallway, above the mantle, and in their parents bedroom. it was fun to study them, and sometimes his father would talk about their meanings, on lazy afternoons spent inside.

so the idea that someone, at least to some degree, shared the same ardor for art that he did, especially someone who gave him frequent headrushes and bouts of dizziness, was a revelation in and of itself. he’d wanted to take art history, too, but the class was small and filled up quickly.

“i’ll distract her partner. i’ll tell her the teacher want to speak with her or something. do not fuck this up, jisung.”

he nodded. for once, he was in his element. he didn’t have to worry about fumbling for a response or stuttering or making a fool of himself, because he knew this. and she might know too. and talking to someone who knows what you’re talking about, who can understand and comprehend your words, are rare conversations. the enormity of this moment blooms butterflies in jisung’s stomach. he’s going to rectify all the times he’s been caught awkwardly staring, all the times he’s said something stupid, like did you know that tapeworms can grow to be 80 feet long? things were going to change. the nature of his existence in relation to hers would never be the same after this. 

“hey, hyeon, i think i heard the teacher calling for you downstairs…” chenle began, walking over to where she was sitting, with his hands in his pockets. she looked up from where she was scribbling on her notepad.

“oh,” she got up quickly, shoving the notepad into her backpack. “i’ll be right back.”

jisung watched the scene unfold before him, waiting for either a) his life to change or b) his impending doom.

chenle followed hyeon down the stairs, giving jisung a thumbs-up before retreating. he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before hesitantly approaching her. her back was towards him, and she was writing something on her assignment sheet, occasionally glancing up to look at the art.

his sneakers were loud against the linoleum tiles; she heard him approach.

“ah, the tiger and the magpie,” he began, standing beside her and gazing at the artwork. “did you know that korea actually used to be abundant with tigers? they’ve gone extinct now, but they were a popular thing of interest in old folk paintings. they used to call them the—”

“princes of the mountain?” she finished. the room was lit up by nothing more than windows, the sun casting shadows across her face. shining into the maple pools of her eyes. jisung clenched his hands into fists so tight his fingernails created angry red crescents on his palms. he knew he was over the moon, but he couldn’t help it; the thrill of talking to her, of having a common ground with her, was all so overwhelming to him.

he smiled, big enough to show his gums, “yes!” he replied. “tigers, however, were both praised and feared during this time. initially because all they did was eat the livestock and and harm people. because of this, tigers are portrayed in paintings in absurd and often humorous ways.”

she nodded. “that is true. and also, folk paintings are popular because of the freedom in which they are done. this unconventional, extraordinary form of art has been celebrated throughout time because it demonstrates the freedom within an artists’ work.”

jisung felt like jumping up and down, like running laps around the world, like screaming until his lungs collapsed. the feelings he had were new and unfamiliar. she smelled like spring, like rosewater, and the scent to him was inebriating. this was it for him. any questions or doubts he had about his feelings were no longer up for debate. he was wholly, irrevocably in love with her; and the realization of this did not surprise him, but merely felt like the answer to a question that he couldn’t figure out.

“you like minhwa paintings?”

she was smiling at him in an endearing type of way, like the way you stare at small children when they do something cute. “a bit, yeah. my father’s obsessed with them, that’s how i know so much.”

the last thing he wanted to do was remind her of her father. “o-oh yeah. me neither. i prefer um, more traditional.” although it didn’t get much more traditional than folk paintings. 

she looked down at her watch. “oh, i think it’s time to break for lunch…” she furrowed her eyebrows, “i don’t know where my partner is though.”

“funny,” jisung commented, “chenle disappeared too,”

“well,” she smiled, jisung’s blood warmed. “i suppose we’ll find them in the veranda. let’s walk together, yeah?”

“of course.” he agreed, following behind her.

lunch was stale sandwiches with too much mustard, bruised apples, a bag of pretzels, and bottled water. even after they received their lunches, even after they took a seat in the grass, jisung still had yet to see any sight of his partner. which wasn’t to say he didn’t mind, however he was not fond of getting in trouble. and neither did she; seeming to be without a care in the world, she removed the crust off of her bread and began eating quietly. jisung opened the bag of pretzels, enjoying the taste of the sodium-filled snack. his previous nerves had subsided, and he now felt more comfortable in her presence. he’d managed so far not to make a fool of himself, and he considered that a small victory. 

“so,” she began, uncapping her water, “you like art?”

“yeah, a lot actually.” jisung replied, rubbing the salt off of his fingers. “my parents really like it too, so... i guess i... no one really knows that about me, though.”

“oh?” she replied, meeting his eyes. the was sun hitting her skin, making her glow naturally, appearing ethereal. it was nearing noon, and the cool morning faded away in a haze of heat. she had shed her sweatshirt, revealing a baby blue tank top that showed off her tanned and freckled arms. jisung couldn’t stop staring at them; comparing them to cinnamon and brown sugar. the sun bloomed freckles on her cheeks, too, and jisung found it hard to focus on anything other than the sun pooling on her cheeks and threading gold into her hair, the dark ebony strands auburn in the broad day.

“is that a secret?”

and jisung supposed it was. “yes, please don’t tell anyone, or my life is over!”

she laughed, half moons forming in the hollows of her cheeks. it was soft and rich and jisung had never heard anything more beautiful. “you have my word.” she promised. 

she held out her pinkie. “do you still believe in the lost art of pinkie promising?”

jisung chuckled, but nonetheless brought his pinkie up to meet hers. “are you kidding me? pinkie promises are the only way to hold a promise. any other forms are illegitimate and fake.”

she laughed. again. at something jisung had said. he had said something and she laughed in response. her pinkie, like he anticipated, was too small for his own. he was bordering on delirium. 

“that’s true.” she acceded. 

twenty minutes later, jisung was holding his apple core up to the sun and watching the way the light shined around it. the grass tickled his ears and the really should have gone back into the museum to find chenle and force him to finish his assignment, but he felt sleepy and in love and happy. so, so, weirdly happy and content. she laid next to him, eyes closed but not sleeping, features relaxed. a ladybug crawled idly on her palm. and he stared freely, and he knew that she knew he was staring, but he didn’t care anymore. she was beautiful and he wanted to stare at her because everyone loves staring at beautiful things, just look at all the people inside the museum, so he was going to stare and he was going to appreciate beauty in its’ rawest form.

he closed his eyes, too, relishing in the soft breeze that carried the scent of something sweet. he heard the songs of birds in the trees and he could not help but smile. jisung knew many things. he knew that minhwa paintings were an expression of commoner’s hopes. he knew that the grass beneath him was green and the sky was an endless blue with clouds that kissed the tops of buildings. he knew that he was young. he knew that his life before him was infinite and full. and there were many things that he did not know—like what would happen tomorrow or the days following. or what would happen if he leaned over and kissed her right now, lips warmed and tasting like granny smith apples and springtime. he knew none of this, but he knew that he was in love and that his chest was full. and that was all that mattered.

 

______________

 

jisung wakes up to the sound of an bus engine roaring.

he’s up in an instant, skin burning, knowing that it’s going to peel later. she’s up too, rubbing her eyes, adjusting her bag.

he sees his bus—head of the line, everyone’s boarded, ready to leave. he curses under his breath.

“hey—i think our bus is leaving—” he says, already chasing after it. he hears the sound of her following in tow, the sound air leaving her lungs as they run across the freshly cut grass, the heat baring down on them unrelentlessly. 

they barely make it in time, jisung pounding on the doors. the open a moment later, and he is faced with his glaring teacher and death suddenly feels like a preferable option.

“jisung. i’ll be honest, i didn’t expect much from you.” her gaze lands on the wide-eyed, gasping girl beside him. “you, however. lets just say i’m surprised by the company you keep.”

“i’m s-sor—” she breathed, trying to inhale.

“i’m so sure. hurry to your seats, the both of you.” she stepped aside, allowing them on. jisung eagerly made his way to his seat, remembering that he had totally forgotten about finding chenle, when he saw him already seated, smiling at him.

“where the heck were you?” jisung exclaimed, sliding in next to him.

chenle merely held up his assignment sheet, fully complete. “i asked hyeon to help me finish the assignment. but on to more important things—how was your date?”

“it was not a date.” jisung grumbled.

“hm...there was food. you two were alone and talking. sounds like a date to me. please tell me you at least didn’t tell her one of your fun facts.”

jisung grimaced. “only one.”

“what was it?” 

“on average, people fear spiders more than they fear death.”

chenle blinked. “you know, i’m really embarrassed to call you my friend sometimes.”

“ditto.”


	5. episode five

one thing jisung has learned from all his time in seoul is that sunshine never lasts long around here.

large clouds occupy the sky at any given time, soaking up happiness and soccer fields in its wake. it’s almost as if he’s been living in a stormcloud for most of his life. he figures this explains his irrationality in any and every given situation that calls for him to make a decision. his mind directs itself like lightning, all over the spectrum of thought. white clouds with holes and smoke trails of fear take up most of his head, and it’s only a matter of time before the rest look the same.

this is why jisung figures he should not be here right now, sitting on a creaky old bench with the girl he’s actually in love with. she was the sea that surrounded jeju island today, ceaseless and cool, splashing against the rocks. however, if she merely touched his cheek, she’d surely evaporate from the heat. the hot, full sun dividing the canopy of trees in uniform was no match for jisung. both of their snow cones were disintegrating, hers because she had decided she didn’t like honeydew melon flavour一 with sesame! after taking a few bites, his… well, his appetite was shot. jisung wondered what would be an appropriate set of actions to take at the current point in time. would running be acceptable? his fight or flight response was triggered. she had merely invited him out to eat, yet somehow he’s managed to spin the scenario about ten thousand different ways. did she hate him, and was bringing him out to tell him so? or did she love him secretly all along, and this was merely a ploy to get him alone? anything seemed fathomable at the moment.

“you look good in yellow.” he murmured, not meeting her eyes as he ushered out the compliment. she nodded in response, a silent thank you. she looked better than good, jisung thought. she looked like the essence of life, so vibrant and nourishing, daisies and wild animals stand a little taller to her divine approach.

he watched her the fingers on her right hand curl into a fist on the lap of her sundress. she had been doing that for quite a while, fixing her clothes frequently. fussing her hair out of her eyes. staring at the red drawstrings of his tie dye hoodie. dropping her tone. it all seemed off to him, but he knew that he was absolutely no better in that respect.

she looked up at him eventually, sunflowers flashing in her sap-coloured eyes. there was something there that certainly wasn’t there before. it smelled like cherry blossoms and fresh wood. jisung was ready to build a house on her heart with the materials, nails and hammers of youthful love. 

“i kind of like you.” 

jisung says this without realizing it’s what he’s saying. he thought it was a passing thought, so feeble and volatile yet so fierce that it prys his mouth open and forces him to let it out. yet, somehow it’s soft and natural, cotton balls and kitten fur in his speech. 

“i kind of like you too, jisung.”

“wait, what一”

“what do you think you’re doing?!” a male voice so pronounced it caused jisung to stand straight up. she soon followed, a pained expression dawning on her face as she recognized the man by his tone. “is that a boy? in my yard?” his sound filled the entire lot, the birds that had been preening each others feathers in the tree branches hurriedly flying away in a flapping, winged rush.

jisung was no different. barely hearing her urgings for him to go, he pivoted away from the scene, covered the lawn in a matter of seconds, and was over the fence faster than a hurried heartbeat.

he didn’t know whether or not he was running because she had just reciprocated his confession or because her father was standing at the mouth of the door with his arms raised in fury. whichever one it was, it caused him to sprint all the way back to the doorstep of his home and collapse on the doormat, blushed knees tickled by the hairs.


	6. episode six

the grandfather clock was nestled between a dying potted bonsai tree and an old karaoke machine jisung’s father had found at an old antique shop that was going out of business一it was also where they’d found the clock, which jisung’s mother despised, especially in the early hours of the morning when the damn thing would let out three loud dongs, effectively waking her up from her restful sleep. but despite that, the addition was a beautiful cherrywood piece, complete with brass and mahogany detailing. it also appeared to match the beat of jisung’s heart when it emitted a loud dong, signalling it was 8pm. to say jisung was nervous was a gross understatement; he could nearly feel his bowels quivering. however, he could not deny the elation that caused a slight tremble in his hands; or the thrill that sent blood rushing to his brain. there was a certain type of exhilaration that came with doing something you weren’t supposed to, despite the fact that it was wrong一however, the morality and immorality of something is entirely dependent on your perspective, as delinquents would probably reason what jisung was about to do was pretty mild in the eyes of the law.

 

it was a friday evening, and while most teenagers his age were out doing things that would make sailors blush, he was about to do something slightly more tame, but nonetheless just as illegal; although, once again, the subjectivity of it was left truly unknown. as he sat up from his perch on the couch from where he was pretending to be playing a game on his phone一he couldn’t really focus, his hands were shaking too much一he pondered. his thoughts instinctively cycling through possible excuses, in the event that his parents were, through some miracle, still awake. they’d always been strict about that type of thing; they were especially adamant about getting enough sleep, as they always said that second only to water, it is vital for humans to survive. and jisung supposed that was true, although he doubted he would get very much tonight.

 

he wasn’t sure what tonight prevailed, but he could only hope for the best as he got up, navigating through the cluttered living area一cluttered because jisung’s father found “aesthetic value” (so he says), in everything, which caused a lot of random trinkets and knickknacks, such as expensive lamp shades and incense holders to find their place in the small living area. the garage was also full of random objects including, but not limited to: twenty-three identical paintings of edvard munch’s _the scream_ , two world globes that were roughly the size of a basketball, four acoustic guitars (one of which he had gotten signed by one of his favorite bands in the 90’s), as well as three steel chairs with chipping white paint and rusted legs that no one ever used. his parents still fought about it sometimes, but aruging was useless; he was stubborn beyond any type of convincing. jisung thinks about this as he makes his way into the kitchen, making an effort to be quiet. still, the floorboards are old and creak beneath his weight.

 

due to the heat of summer, the pantry door is swollen beyond it’s frame, making it hard to open. despite his best efforts to be quiet, the door unsticks from the frame with a loud squeak and sound of wood nearly splintering. jisung’s heart races, but he knows if he loses his nerve he won’t be able to follow through, so he merely grabs the first bag of chips he sees before closing it, leaving it slightly ajar so he doesn’t have to shove his shoulder against it to fit back in the frame. he quickly makes his way out of the kitchen, nearly bumping into the dining table and causing a chair to fall over. he recovers quickly, thinking he perhaps should have turned on the light beforehand. then he’s tip-toeing to his room to make his escape. while the front door seemed logical and was much closer, the screen door banged whenever it slammed against its’ frame, meaning that he couldn’t leave quietly. he cradles his bag of of chips to his chest as he makes his way to the hallway, which is really just a spit up of jisung’s adolescence, composed of gold embroidered frames with family photos, baby pictures, and a chronological sequence of jisung’s photos from grades 1-11th. he couldn’t look at them without cringing, and was also the reason jisung hardly brought chenle over, for he knew he’d just make fun of the gap in his front teeth and his bowl haircut that his mother had given him as a kid.

 

he thinks he’s made it. he can see the light pooling in the hallway from the crack in his door where he’d left his bedside lamp on. the last photo, the most recent one of jisung, ends right by his room and he’s so, so close he can see the color of the shirt he was wearing, it’s blue一when his left foot falls on an object. and jisung isn’t lucky and he certainly knows this, so when the object emits a loud squeak, he is not as surprised as he should be by it. he looks down at the dog toy with distaste, sighing. however, he realizes that even if the noise was loud enough to wake up his parents, there was nothing particularly incriminating about this scene, just the fact that jisung was taking a bag of chips into his room which was against the rules, but they knew he did it secretly anyway so it didn’t really matter.

 

he pauses only a moment, holding his breath, listening for sounds of his parents stirring in their room. luckily, the house remains silent, except for the slight ticking of the grandfather clock from the living area. he doesn’t hesitate a moment as he breaches the space from the hallway into his room, quickly shutting the door. then he’s pulling on his shoes with one hand, not bothering to tie them, before his unlatching his window and remembering that he never broke out the screen. there’s only a momentary panic as he zips the chips beneath his jacket before busting the screen out with the heel of his foot. it pops out, quiet enough to pass as a book falling on the floor. still, he’s past any point of worry as he climbs out and sets it on the side of the house. he closes the window, then he’s running across the grass and over to the garage, which his father left cracked so he wouldn’t have to worry about manually opening it, as the chain was rusted and old.

 

slowly, he lifts it up, knowing that if he goes too fast the chain will rattle and he’ll get caught. when it’s less than halfway, just enough that he can squeeze his bike out, he crawls beneath the opening and tries to use the moon as a guide. luckily he navigates quickly, pushing his bike out before following suit. he walks it down the driveway before hopping on, pedalling quickly. he’s sure he’s already wasted enough time trying to get out, but now he doesn’t have to worry一about that at least. the night had cooled considerably from the sweltering heat of early summer, biting jisung’s cheeks and tousling his hair. the streets are quiet and bare, everyone already retreating into their houses for the night. he uses the street lamps as a guide, which cast bright yellow beams down upon him as he travels under them. his shadow looks funny, stretched and distorted. it’s a pretty night, he thinks, as he travels over the bridge that houses a dried riverbed beneath it. the air smells of ozone and the lingering aroma of baked asphalt. there is the sound of cars moving further into the city, horns honking and the quiet sound of jisung’s bike chain when he stops pedalling. he’s never felt more free, with the fresh air in his lungs, bestowing within him a renewed vigor. he’s still scared and he can feel it clenching in his stomach, but his nerves have calmed considerably.

 

it’s not long before his neighborhood falls away, before he’s past the shops and general stores and his school, where all that lies in front of him is the unpaved road and empty grasses on both sides of him, the forest looming against the plum night. he reaches the tall wheatgrass, quickly hopping off his bike and kicking out the stand. then he’s wading through, anticipation making his hands quiver.

 

his heart pounded within the confinements of his chest when he saw her sitting atop an old fence post. she had shorts on, a tee shirt to go with it. her knees were of a blushed colour, probably the same as the one that dusted jisung’s cheeks. a small basket rest on her lap, what jisung took to be a picnic basket. he silently cursed himself for bringing something as mundane as chips, the bag dangling from his fingers as he walked up to her. he had an overwhelming urge to hug her, pull her into his embrace. after all, she had一 and he had, risked it all to visit each other under the confidence of the night sky. nothing seemed better than resting his chin on top of her head and making his presence known around her waist, but jisung knew he had boundaries, mental ones at least. there was absolutely nothing that could convince him to do as much as hold her hand at this point. his bad history with dating had rendered him cautious of all of them following. there had been _that girl_ , back in the sixth grade, who had put daisies in his hair and kissed his forehead, who had announced to the entire classroom that they were in a relationship, only to decide that jisung was too boring and shy to commit to. and then there was her; jisung didn’t want to make any mistakes, but at the same time, nearly every normal human action seemed like a grave accident.

 

“it’s a little cold, huh?” jisung chuckled, although he was sweating underneath his clothes. he dreaded the moment they got even remotely close, or worse, if she touched him and pulled away with a lake of sweat falling from her fingertips. he couldn’t remember a time he was so nervous besides from his first ever soccer game in elementary school. he lost that one, but this was one he didn’t want to.

 

she pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave him a sweet smile. “yeah, a little.” he felt like he was going crazy. he wasn’t sure how it was possible to be so powerful, especially without even trying. “i should have brought a jacket.” she sighed, slumping off the fence and approaching him, her sandals making imprints in the dirt. they were the kind of sandals that anyone else would be embarrassed to wear in front of another person; decorated in action figures and neon pink in colour. something about the presence of these made him feel at ease, knowing she wasn’t trying that hard to woo him. she knew that he wouldn’t be here right now, standing in the middle of nowhere at 9pm, if he wasn’t whipped.

 

“i brought a few snacks, if that’s okay.” she announced, patting the basket. jisung nodded profusely, as to say that it was fine. “i hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter, or一”

 

“一i’m not. don’t worry.” he said a little too quickly.

 

she smiled again and nodded. “well, do you want to talk? we can walk for a while.” she offered.

 

the conversation that took place throughout that entire walk had been anything but relevant, many liberties taken on jisung’s part to avoid embarrassment一 but he had survived. “do you… like sweet things, or savoury things?” he had asked sometime during their little walk. she had smiled, as she had a habit of doing around him; and answered slowly, like she was making up her mind then and there, and this concept was new to her. “s-w-e-e-t, maybe.”

 

jisung had immediately questioned her taste, and her eyebrows had arose. “because i just do. sometimes there isn’t a reason for something, jisung. sometimes things are just as they are because that’s how it is, you know?”

 

although jisung nodded, he wasn’t completely sure he knew what she was talking about. there seemed to be something else to what she was saying. “i agree. i like savoury things better because they tend to be more fulfilling, like steak or stew. sweet things leave euphoria in your mind but holes in your teeth.”

 

his words were met with silence, for the span of at least a minute, but it felt like a century. she laughed.

 

everything past that was a blur. jisung was so dizzy with happiness that he could barely remember how to breathe. by the time they were laying in the grass, jisung had surpassed any type of consciousness. he was floating on a cloud, destination heaven.

 

“do you like to dance?” she asked. she was a sight to behold; her arms was the only thing propping her up in the grass, and a half-eaten cherry rest on her lips. jisung glanced over at her. “what kind of dance do you mean?”

 

“slow dancing. you know, the kind we did at the school dance in freshman year.”

 

“t-the one where you…”

“yes.”

 

“i don’t know how.”

 

“i’ll teach you, stupid.”

 

jisung slowly got up from the comfortable bed of grass he had been laying on. he helped her up, pulling her a little too hard and causing her to surge forward. she caught her balance, and chuckled. “you’re strong.”

 

“i think you’ve really lost your mind.” jisung responded, and she made eye contact with him. “for you, sure.”

 

this dream he was currently existing in was so good that jisung was almost sure it was real.

 

her hands found their way onto his shoulders, and his around her hips. gasping, she took his hands and moved them onto her waist, his fingers running over the fabric of her shirt, over her curves. the other hand, that had been awkwardly hanging in the air, she took into her own, and she pulled him closer, so close he had to look down to make eye contact. jisung counted all the times he had been this close to a girl. 1… his mother… 2… system error, jisung.exe has stopped working.

 

“you okay?” she asked, and he swallowed the sea of spit that had been collecting in his mouth. “yeah! i’m fine.”

 

“okay, if you say so.” she rest her forehead against his shoulder and jisung nearly jumped away in panic. “hey, did you know… did you know that…”

 

she looked up at him.

 

“did you know that centipedes don’t usually have a 100 legs?”

 

“what? that’s fascinating.”

 

jisung wished he had the capacity to be the man who would amaze her with his flirtation and good one-liners, but he had never been much of a spectacle; at least he thought. little did he know, that with the light of the stars freckling his face, cascading onto his warm skin, he was the most beautiful creature in the night. an owl paused it’s nocturnal hunt to watch him from a tree branch above. owls weren’t known to like shiny things, but this one couldn’t help itself.

 

“are you sure you don’t know how?” she asked, out of breath from thrashing about the field with him. it had become less of a slow dance and more like some kind of choreographed fight that entailed a lot of giggling and little screams of excitement. he took a breath, joining her on her newfound spot in the meadow, her body cradled by fragrant wildflowers. jisung knows that behaviour like this is dangerous, that behaviour like this will make him lose something; his heart, maybe, he doesn’t care.

 

“thanks.” she says, when his eyes are closed.

 

“for?”

 

“being with me.”

 

jisung doesn’t open his eyes, because he can see stars in his eyelids. he isn’t sure how to respond to that, his mouth just remains ajar. “i know you probably risked a lot coming out here to see me, and i really appreciate what you’ve done, jisung.” she breathed, and jisung’s own hitches when he feels her hand pressed against his stomach. “you’re one of the only boys who’s ever caught my attention, you know.” she said this cautiously, shyly almost, uncharacteristically. “that first day in the game club, you were wearing the ugliest pokemon shirt and i thought it was so embarrassing on a boy like you, who is unbelievably good looking. you were arguing with one of your friends and i wanted to talk to you about your shirt, but you never stopped arguing.” jisung tenses when he feels her getting on top of him. “and then of course there was the time i told you i liked you.”

 

“but you know what?” she whispered. “i don’t like you.”

 

jisung went so cold that he figured his pulse must’ve dropped too. was this death? his existence seemed to be hanging on string.

 

“i love you.”

  



End file.
